


Why She Fights

by Samarkand12



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Post-Chosen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samarkand12/pseuds/Samarkand12
Summary: After the fall of Sunnydale, Rona has to deal with injuries, her new Slayer powers......and the realization that when it comes to one annoying blonde slayer, things were not as simple as she thought.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A quick note on language: Rona is being portrayed as from a South Side black neighborhood with a fair amount of gang activity. Expect the use of inner city language with the occasional word beginning with "n".

"Look at me!"

Vi shouted at her. Rona slumped against the bus seat. Dammit, she wanted to go to sleep. Hadn't had a good night's in a long time.

"This is nothing!"

Easy for her to say. Pain everywhere. A lot less, though, since Vi had dragged her out from under the seal.

"Stay awake!" 

Oh, right. Must be shock. Probably not a good idea to drift off.

"This is nothing!"

Heard you the first time.

An angry sob.

"Don't die."

Won't.

++++

Rona woke up. About one second later, she decided that had been the worst move ever. She gritted her teeth against the lines of fire drawn over her entire body. Her right side throbbed with each breath. Ribs broken, had to be. Probably from that ubervamp who had gotten under her guard by her broken arm. Still busted, too. Cast still on. Okay, so not dead. Unless I'm in Heaven. Or Hell. Moving as little as possible, she patted around with her good arm. Covers. Sheets. Soft bed. Some kind of bars to the side, like a rail. Rona risked cracking her left eye. The other was swollen shut. White. A tube running down into her arm, full of red stuff. Blood. Her neck muscles did all sorts of angry things when she turned her head to the side.

Blond hair, green eyes looking back at her.

"Goddamn, I must be in hell," Rona said in a croak to Buffy Summers, "if I'm waking up next to you."

"Next closest thing," Buffy said. Both hands clutched her stomach. "Hospital ward. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," Rona said.

"You mean numb and achy all over and dizzy?" Buffy asked.

"More like somebody stuck me into a blender," Rona said.

"Oh, that's technically a mauling." Buffy sounded way too perky. Damn white Cali-girl. 

"How're you?" Rona stared up at that ceiling, her dreads spreading around her on the pillow.

"Perforated," came the reply.

"It hurt?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." Buffy sighed. "I'm off solids and liquids until I heal. Ice chips, not cutting it."

"Oh." Rona closed her eyes. "Good."

Darkness.

+++

Rona woke up again. Ow. Still was a really bad idea, although the volume knob on the agony had been turned down. Risking it, she sat up in the bed. More like a lurch. At least part of her was vertical. She squinted through half-closed eyelids. Even though the overhead lights were dimmed, it was like bright sunlight gleaming off glass. Blinding. Were her eyes fucked up? Great, just great. Hearing was crazy, too. A nearby heart monitor seemed louder than an MC rocking the mike down at a club. Whoa. Getting her bearings, Rona checked out where she was. Hospital. Line of beds along either wall, things going beep, steel carts, smell of antiseptic. Her stomach flipped. Wasn't too fond of those lately. Visited them a lot in Sunnydale: potentials getting treated for things they couldn't stitch up at Buffy's house, Xander after Caleb screwed up his eye, getting her cast. Of course, hospital was a step up from "down in a cave with a bunch of screaming bloodsuckers".

Smell was off the charts too. Right next to her came scent vibrant as the copper of a girl's blood: sweat, a hint of aftershave, just a bit of dry paper. Mr. Giles, his back to her. He sat next to a sleeping Buffy with a hand resting on her shoulder. When he leaned in, his expression just like her grams' those times she had nursed Rona through fevers. Weird. Mr. Giles had always been in the background during her time in Sunnydale. Old, distant, scary in the quiet way the real dangerous OG's back in the hood were. Veterans of the life, they didn't need to represent. Just be. Even the Potentials he had brought back-- Ah. Molly. Chloe. Dead. Amanda had gone too, in the Hellmouth. Was Kennedy still alive? Cho? Faith? Xander? Dawn? Her ribs complained while her chest hitched a few times. Tried to keep it quiet, so Mr. Giles wouldn't hear.

"Rona?" A quiet English voice. Mr Giles turned to her. A crack spiderwebbed one lens of his glasses. "Are you alright?"

"Feel like I went ten rounds with Chuckie." Rona dried her cheeks with a corner of the blanket. "Okay though. Go back, I don't want to disturb you none."

"You aren't." Mr Giles tucked up the covers around Buffy's neck. The Slayer moaned a little as he turned to Rona. "I am a Watcher, sworn to aid the Slayer. Not merely my Slayer, although that has at times been a failing of mine. Do you need anything?"

"Uh." Rona looked away from his glasses. Light still hurt. "My eyes are all weird. I'm hearing stuff. Itching all over."

"Ah, of course." Mr. Giles gave her a cheap pair of shades. Oh, mama, that was better. "An after-effect of the Calling. Your senses are adjusting to their new capabilities. The itching is from your wounds healing."

"I hope it stops soon." Fingertips scrabbled through her gown. There were a lot of bandages underneath. "I have to go."

"I don't think it is wise for you to leave until--"

"I mean, go, Mr. Giles." Rona squirmed. "Really, really go."

"Ah." He dragged a wheelchair over. "I'll bring you to the facilities."

"Nah, I can get up myself." Rona grabbed the nearby IV pole for support. She froze at the screech of tortured metal crumpling at her touch. "Or not!"

Rona kept her hands in the air and waved them like she didn't care while Mr. Giles eased her into the seat. She stared at the section of the IV stand she had just crushed. I did that? Mr. Giles hooked her IV to a hook on the wheelchair. He pushed her down the center of the ward to the bathrooms. There were a couple of other potentials--no, Slayers--in the beds across from her and Buffy. Nafisah and Gretta--well, at least a couple others besides her and Buffy had made it out. Principal Wood slept in another section farther down the line. Rona tried not to oggle him. Damn, minute he stopped getting freaky over the white girls, she was making a play. Schwarzenegger body with a Denzel face, right there! Mr. Giles stayed outside while she did her business. Rona bit her lip to stop from moaning with relief. Hesitating at the sink, she chinned the taps open to wash her hands.

Mr Giles waited outside by an empty bed wearing rubber gloves. A bunch of bandages and other things were spread out on a cart. He draw the privacy curtain closed after Rona hobbled over. She paused for a second before raising up the hem of her nightgown, covering her lap with a blanket. Mr. Giles was safe, pretty much. He was a Watcher. She had seen him treat Buffy, wearing only a bra above the waist, after that fight with the first Turok-Han. Didn't even look at her that way even once. Rona wondered if maybe all Watchers were on the down low. Made sense if your job was to spend so much time around young girls. Even Xander--a guy who never once put the moves on any of the potentials--snuck a look every so often. Not to mention what she'd caught Xan muttering once when she went to get him to fix a broken toilet. Mr. Giles was strictly pro while he examined her wounds. There were so many of them. She had seen less stitching on the quilt her grams had said came from the slave days. Was she going to be scarred up like this for the rest of her life?

"Two days, I believe, for these to heal," Mr. Giles said. "A day more for the arm."

"Fast." Rona lowered the gown off her shoulders so he could check up top. "Mr. Giles? How many of us made it out?"

"We lost--" The Watcher suddenly looked even older. "Seven, beneath the Hellmouth. As well, Faith had to leave soon afterwards. She was worried her fugitive status could cause us problems. Don't worry. Your friends Kennedy and Vi escaped, as did Caridad and several others."

"Damn, this sucks." Rona sniffled. "Dawn? Xander?"

"They are fine." Mr. Giles was quiet while he checked a slash beneath her clavicle. "I am afraid Anya died. Apparently heroically. She always did say we were a bad influence."

"Huh." Rona fidgeted. "All your friends are dead, aren't they? The Watchers?"

"My colleagues, yes." A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. "The ones I love--it seems they have weathered this year's trials. For the most part. You and the others did very well. We are proud of you."

"Yeah." Rona smirked. "We kicked ass, didn't we? Talk about a miracle. Everyone knows the black one gets it in the end."

"And blonde cheerleaders die when they investigate strange noises in the attic." Mr. Giles adjusted his glasses. "I have learned that certain young women have a habit of defying conventional wisdom. Rona, will you be able to stay awake for a while?"

"Sure, why?" Rona swallowed heavily when Mr Giles handed her a kukri and a stake. "Oh."

"I have been awake for nearly a day," he said, that hint of cool scariness returning, "and age and human nature limit even my abilities to stand guard. The First's grand plan may have been defeated. It still exists, and has influence. And hospital wards are public places."

Rona gulped, hiding the weapons under her gown. 

"Good girl."

Rona sat up, spine rigid, when Mr. Giles left her in her bed. Great, just great. Near get killed and you still have to worry about vamps and demons. What a mess her life had become. Sulking, she glared over at Buffy. Thanks for nothing, fearless leader. After a moment, though, she noticed the other girl in the bed. A Dawn still in the filthy clothes she had worn to the final battle curled up next to her sister. Mahogany hair mixed with gold. Just peeking out from under Buffy's sister was the pointy end of a stake. Nafisah and Gretta were out cold. Only Rona was up. If anything came in... Rona pinched herself, hard. Not going to fall asleep. We came this far, and we're not gonna die now. Not the girls who had my back. Not my sisters.

Rona stood guard through the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

She had saved the world. Now, she was going to get her reward.

Rona shoved the last nickel into the vending machine. The change she had found in her bloodstained pants was exactly enough for one giant-size chocolate bar. She could see it now: unwrapping it, smelling that sweet chocolate and nougat, crunching down while Buffy pleaded for just one bite. C'mon, c'mon, she thought as the dispenser whirred, gimme some of that--

The bar hovered at the edge of the lip. Then stopped.

Oh hell no!

Rona cocked back her fist and--

Okay, okay. Calm down. Be smart. Be cool. You've got super strength here. Now, just gently pick up the machine-- Wow, she really could. Thing had to weigh several hundred pounds, and she was hefting it easy as a big bag of groceries. Give a little shake, to loosen it up. And, one gentle pull...

The screech of the ripped-off front of the machine echoed down the hallway. Several doctors and nurses gaped at Rona.

"Um." Rona laughed weakly. "Weak hinges. Must've been made in China."

She coughed and grabbed her reward.

"I got this!" she said before scampering away.

++++

Rona jerked herself up one more time on a pull-up bar in the therapy room. Two thousand one, two thousand two. Rona used to do endless reps of chin ups off a bar in the closet of her room back home. That was when her grams kept her in when things were really bad outside between the gangs. Used to bounce a mini-basketball off the wall, but the people next door complained. So it was chin-ups until the cows came home. She had the lats to prove it. Of course , over two grand in chin ups would have left her panting like a dog. Doing all of them with one hand? Dead dog. Only here she was, not even breaking a sweat. At the top of number two grand and ten, she kipped up to balance upside-down in a one-armed handstand. She slowly shifted her grip until all her weight rested on a fingertip. Rona could stay like this all day if she wanted to.

She dismounted with a triple-somersault backflip onto the mat. Nothing but net! Posing in front of a mirror, Rona bulged a bicep for effect. Didn't look any different. No bulking up. All this power and she looked like the same fifteen-and-a-half year old girl. Well, that was gonna change. What's the point of being able to flip over a truck if you didn't have a little cut to your form? Nothing nasty, no yard monster bulk. Just something to show off to the boys in a sleeveless T. Maybe with a tattoo like Faith's. Rona spun into a quick kata. Kick punch sweep! Yeah! Rona had come to Sunnydale to hide out from a war. Never wanted to fight. That first time in the crypt with the others, the one Buffy had called their Cruciamentum? Like she was born to it. Only that had been Little League. With the power beneath her skin, every strike and block and feint came natural as breathing. Rona did not need to think, only move. Faith was right. Total rush. Like when it finally blasted into her underneath the Hellmouth, Scythe in hand, tearing into those Turok-Han. Yeah, get some of me. Come and get it!

Claws and teeth ripping into her.

Girls screaming.

Blood. So much blood.

Rona bent over as if after running a marathon. 

Not so fun anymore.

++++

_This is Major Tom to Ground Control  
I'm stepping through the door  
And I'm floating in a most peculiar way  
And the stars look very different today_

Rona heard the music from down the hall after she left the therapy room. Someone was getting their folk on. A single voice over an acoustic guitar Tracy Chapman-style. Kinda familiar. It couldn't be, since she couldn't even imagine. Only, it was. Mr. Giles sat on a couch in a small lounge by the nursing station, gazing out through the windows at Oxnard stretching out to the Pacific. His glasses were off. He was softer, somehow, without them. He strummed the guitar slung over his body as easily as he swung a sword. With his sleeves rolled up, Rona could see the tattoo on his left arm just above the elbow. A music note? She couldn't tell. Just the thought of Mr. Giles sporting ink was a trip. What a voice. Song wasn't anything she would have listened to on the radio. White boy stuff, at her best guess. Only the way he sung it-- Rona jerked down her gown as much as she could down her thighs. She had to get some new clothes. Damn thing flapped open behind. God and everybody could see she had back.

_Here am I floating round my tin can  
Far above the moon  
Planet earth is blue  
And there's nothing I can do._

"Now that was a joint," Rona said, sitting in an armchair to one side. 

"A bit of Bowie," Mr. Giles said. "I admit to feeling rather out in space at the moment."

"Where did you get the guitar?" Rona asked. "I never saw it back there."

"A gift Kennedy bought it for me at the mall," Mr. Giles said. He locked the guitar back into its case. "She had an emergency credit card she did not use for fear of her family tracking her down and becoming involved with the First's attacks. Apparently she has been making up for lost time pursuing the cult of consumerism. It's quite terrifying, actually, and I say this as a witness to Buffy's rampages."

"That from her?" Rona said, pointing at the bags by his feet.

"Clothes and other necessities, yes." Mr Giles handed them to her. 

"CD player? Game Boy? Sweet! Three cheers for the rich dyke!" Rona riffled through several CD's. "Aretha? James Brown? Marley?"

"Those were my choices, from the music shop." Mr. Giles polished his glasses. "I'm well aware my tastes are, as Buffy put it, 'fossilized beyond hope'."

"Absolutely nothing wrong with a man who like Motown and the hardest working man in show business," Rona said. "I don't like most rap myself, except for maybe De La Soul and Tribe. I want to hear guys yelling about niggas, bitches, and ho's, I'd go five steps to the corner. My grams wouldn't have the stuff in her house, anyway."

"Your grandmother?" Mr. Giles said. "Have you had a chance to call her?"

"Might be hard." Rona bit her lip. "She's been dead a year. Heart condition."

"Your mother or father--" Mr Giles began.

"Not in the picture," Rona snapped. "It's okay. I've got some cousins I was staying with. They'll keep. Probably thought I ran off with a boy. Right now I want to be with my own self. Getting my head around all that's happened, what I might have to do..."

"Destinies can be burdens." Mr. Giles sipped from a styrofoam cup. His lip curled. "Oh, dear lord, Liptons."

"You know about destiny?" Rona said while he dumped the contents into a convenient plant pot.

"Becoming a Watcher was mine," he said. "The calling ran in family lines. One child of each generation must serve the Slayer, was the creed. I rebelled against it."

"I did a little of that with my grams." Rona shrugged. "We argued a lot that last year about school. Well, mostly about me not being in it."

"My rejection was more severe." Mr. Giles touched the tattoo. "I not only sought to defy my father, but to mock our family's legacy. It brought me into a very dark place. People were hurt. Friends died."

"I can't run from this one, Mr. Giles," Rona said. She flexed her muscles. "It's in me, always."

"At times, Buffy tried to escape her Calling," Mr. Giles said. "She ran away once. Often, she sought to avoid serving as the Slayer. It used to infuriate me to no end."

"Get out, Miss 'Death Is Our Gift'?" Rona air-quoted. "At least she knew all about being the Chosen One with a Watcher and everything."

"She didn't," Mr. Giles said, blinking. "Didn't you know? Buffy was one of the Potentials undiscovered by the Council's seers. They only discovered she was the Slayer a month after the previous one was killed. I myself was her second Watcher. Her first Watcher--what was his name--yes, Mr. Merrick, only trained her for a few weeks before she faced her first major crisis as a Slayer."

"Oh," was all Rona could say.

"In the end, Buffy's struggle with her destiny revealed a strength." Mr. Giles hefted his guitar case. "She did her duty in the end, yet never failed to try to balance her destiny with a life beyond it. She was not always successful. The attempt, though, was all the more admirable. It taught me it was possible to do the same with my own calling. Perhaps you might want to talk things over with her on this."

Rona was silent as Mr. Giles left. Buffy became the Slayer cold? No warning? No prep? Man, at least I had some time to get ready. To suddenly get handed a stake and told you have to save the world, it's like. Like.

Just like me.


	3. Chapter 3

Rona had heard the world ignored Sunnydale. The Hellmouth had hidden a murder rate the size of a West African civil war and all sorts of weirdness. Well, Sunnydale was nationwide now. The TV in the hospital lounge had the town--actually, the crater that had been the town--on every channel from CNN to PBS. Reactions were off the charts. Talking heads said it was one of the biggest natural disasters in the US. Crazies on the left and right screamed that the president had rigged it to declare martial law, or that is was a weapons test gone wrong. The Sunnydale sinkhole even got equal time with the chaos in Los Angeles. Most of the city was rioting over some "Cult of Jasmine" and the panic from the eclipse a few weeks ago. Eclipse? Right! She had heard enough about Willow's field trip to pick up Faith that Buffy's friends there were dealing with some serious shit of their own. Two apocalypses in one year was just unfair! The Governator and White House had declared a state of emergency. Most of the National Guard and army not out of the country was streaming into SoCal. Refugees were everywhere, including Oxnard. Rona and the rest of the Sunnydale survivors were posing as LA refugees to avoid reporters asking them about the sinkhole.

That panning shot of the helicopter flying over the crater flashed on screen again. Rona glanced at Buffy, lying on the opposite end of the couch. She and Rona were the last two Slayers in the hospital. Mr. Giles had taken Nafisah and Gretta to the Sunnydalers' place in a refugee camp at a navy base by Oxnard's port. Kennedy's cash could buy almost anything except a place to stay. Every hotel, motel, and campground within a hundred miles of LA was either full of refugees or soldiers. Rona didn't miss the other two Slayers. Sure, they were nice girls and all. Just not tight the way she was with Vi and, in a way, with Kennedy. Neither had come around. Probably had their own heads to clear and not want to deal with Buffy while doing it. Mr. Wood had been put into intensive care after a second operation. So Rona had spent the last two days with only Buffy for company. The oldest living Slayer was quiet most of the time. Just lying there with that smile Rona couldn't figure out. Happy? Sad? What?

The shot froze. For a moment, Rona could almost see the camera focusing on the house on Revello Drive.

Everything. Buffy had lost everything.

"Must be some drugs you're getting," Rona said. 

"Demerol was my friend." Buffy plucked at the IV tube. "I'm just in 'fire bad, tree pretty' mode right now. A lot like after I blew up the high school the first time. Angst later--basking in the fact I'm free of it all for once."

"You blew up your what?" Rona's brows shot up to her dreads. "Getting the feeling not all of Andrew's stories are bullshit! What did you do that for?"

"To blow up the Mayor," Buffy said. "Xander was the one who set the explosives. I lured in Mayor Wilkins after he became the giant snake demon at graduation."

"Snakes? Nobody told me about giant snakes!" Rona leapt up, pacing. "I thought that once we dealt with the First, it'd be maybe a few vamps every night."

"Rona, shhhh!" Buffy hissed. "We're trying to be low-pro here."

"How did you stand it for seven years?" Rona shook her head. 

"Not easily." Buffy shrugged. "A lot of times I felt like I was the one girl in all the world. Wait, I was."

"Mr. Giles talked about destiny and all that." Rona buried her face in her hands. "Thing is, my life wasn't much. Kicking around the hood, cutting school and all that. Not much place for a black woman in America living like that. But it was my life. I didn't ask for...for fighting evil like I was Foxy Brown. I mean, yeah, it's cool and all that. Just--I'm scared!"

"I had a life too, before this." Buffy scooted over beside Rona. She leaned forward, elbows on knees. "An airhead cheerleader in LA whose biggest plan in life was winning Homecoming and snagging squad captain in senior year. There isn't a week when I wi--um, bad word. Wonder if I could go back to being that girl who probably would have ended up marrying the quarterback and having the two point five kids while he had sex with his secretary on the side before running off to Spain and could it have killed my dad to call--"

Buffy coughed into a fist.

"Back onto the relevant," Buffy said. "Warning you here, there might be speech."

"Maybe this one time I'll listen," Rona said.

"Here's the big secret: the big moments always come." Buffy smiled sadly. "There's always something. Destiny, prophecy, a brain tumour. You can try to dodge them, or get ready for them. Sometimes you can. But even when you think you're safe, the big moments come."

"What's the point, if you can't change anything?" Rona demanded.

"Didn't say that," Buffy said. "We're not puppets. Not usually, although once we met this demon hunter who-- See, that moment when you think nothing you do matters? That's the exact moment when it matters what you do. It's that decision right after it all happens that's important. It's where you find out who you are."

"I'm fifteen years old. I don't want to die." Rona wiped her eyes. "I haven't even figured out who I am yet."

"You're the girl who walked into the mouth of hell with me," Buffy said, handing Rona a tissue, "totally kicked major ass, and walked right out. Me, thinking that's a good start."

"Might be right, there." Rona blew her nose. "Buff, did I ever thank you for saving me at the bus station, first time?"

"Just my job," Buffy said, hand flicked in dismissal. "I had you penciled in between getting the groceries and picking up Dawn from school."

"Glad I matter," Rona said. "Still, you know, thanks. Even if you did nearly get me killed about half-dozen times."

"You're welcome." Buffy settled back in the pillows.

Rona played with her Game Boy. Tetris only. She couldn't stand anything with fighting in it right now. She ignored the TV. Just too depressing. Although, every so often, she looked up at Buffy who still had that little goofy-assed grin. Lost everything? Maybe not. Home, stuff, yeah. Only she'd brought most of her friends and the people she had protected the best she could. Seven years. No, eight, Buffy had gotten started in LA. Eight years. Ninety six months. How many days, Rona couldn't figure out offhand. Fighting and hurting and even dying, which was a story she'd ask Buffy about. Had to be a head-spinner. All that time, saving people.

Saving her.

Can I do that? Can I?

Can I be that strong?

+++

Punch kick block.

Dodge roundhouse knee strike jab jab.

Clinch elbow strike push away go for the low line--

"Hey, Rona, are you coming?"

"Keep your damn panties on, Buff!" Rona shouted. "I'm finishing up in here."

Rona whipped out the last few moves in her shadow sparring in the deserted therapy room. A backpack stuffed with her new clothes and other things waited by the door. Moving day. She and Buffy were finally leaving the hospital. Buffy wasn't finished healing up yet, but Mr. Giles was worried the doctors might notice how fast it was happening. Shouldering her pack, she headed for the front. Cast was still on. Mr. Giles had told her they'd chip it off at the camp. Nah, screw that. Rona tore off the cast. Yeah! Finally, she could scratch it as much as she could. Yuck, it was all smelly. A quick wash in the bathroom next door fixed that. Gingerly, Rona tested her right forearm. It really was alright, healed up like the rest of the claw wounds and bites. Good thing too, since a body like hers was way too pretty for scars.

Mr. Giles was already pushing Buffy in her wheelchair through the elevator doors. Rushing to catch them, she saw Xander in an empty examination room. A flipped-open cell dangled in one hand Damn, he looked so tired. In Sunnydale, he had always been the one who had always been around to handle problems. Usually running his mouth while handling five different brands of craziness at once. Not to mention kicking Andrew's ass in gear when he needed it. Even after Caleb-- Rona waved the senior Slayer and the Watcher off. Quietly, she tiptoed into the exam room. Rona jerked her head away when she saw Xander's patch was up; he was kneading the skin around his socket. She had a brief glimpse of black--just black--through the half-open eyelid. 

"Don't worry, it's back down," Xander said.

"That? Nah, that's no big thing." He had pulled down the patch, much to her relief. "You okay?"

"Just dealing with the massive busy tone that is LA's phone system." Xander ran his fingers through shaggy hair. "Things have to be bad. Deadboy is probably still figuring out that you don't crank a cell before dialing. Cordy not answering? Now that's a sign of the apocalyse."

"Aw, man, do we have to go three for three now?" The names were ones Rona didn't know. Probably the Scooby's friends Willow had visited. 

"I think we're up to quota on those." Xander rolled his shoulders. "Hey, c'mon, let's get you back to Camp Crystal Lake, where you can trade hospital food for the yumminess of MRE's."

"Anything's better than the crap they serve here," Rona said, as they headed for the elevators

"I'm going to write that down," Xander said, "and when you taste one, I'll make sure to provide the ironic laugh and mocking gestures."

"Wonderful." Rona hunched down. "I heard about Anya. Sorry. You okay?"

"I've had my heart ripped out before," Xander said. "Literally. Let me tell you, First Slayers? Not morning people. This isn't anything new. We've lost people before. I'll deal."

"It's just--" Rona hunched down further. "I tried to block them off, really. Only I think one got past me--"

"Okay, stop," Xander said. He shook his head. "There's only one steering wheel in the Guiltmobile, and today I'm the designated driver. Ahn knew the risks. We both knew it...it might be the last. My girl. Always doing the stupid thing."

"Why stupid?" Rona asked. "Sounds to me she went out a hero."

"That's the heroic part." Xander beamed. "The first apocalypse Ahn was around for as a human, she ran for the hills. Even invited me along, who knows why. I didn't give that good prom. When she came back--every time she should have done the smart thing, did the opposite. Always chose the stupid thing, right down to the end. Trying to be human, fighting with us."

Xander laid his head on the steel elevator doors. His chest hitched.

"Loving me. Cordy could have told her that. The stupidest thing."

"Xan?" Rona used a little of her strength to hold him up. "We're taking the stairs now, okay?"

"Good idea," Xander replied, following her. "All of a sudden I need some bracing. Uh, exercise."

Xander seemed to get better as they went down the stairs. Seemed. Rona wasn't fooled. Funny thing, Xander might be all smiles on the outside. But she knew he'd been fronting Mr. Cheer when he had come home with one eye gone. Outside, Buffy and Mr. Giles waited in one of the back seats of a Hummvee driven by a man in a navy uniform. Buffy darted a worried look at Rona. Rona gave a quick head-shake in answer. She guided Xander into the back seat, crowding him close to Buffy. The blond slayer curled her arm around his as his head tipped back. They'd won against the First Evil. Put it right into the ground. Dammit, the cost was high. Nobody should hurt this bad.

As they drove to the port, Rona made a decision right there.

She was going to do the stupid thing.


	4. Chapter 4

Home sweet home away from home turned out to be several shipping containers, stacked two high, on an open spot of asphalt by a railway line. A scaffold and ladders lead up to the "second floor". Inside, there was only two cots by each wall and a privacy curtain for a chemical toilet in back. Small windows in the doors and in back provided light. Showers were in a nearby trailer. Could be worse. She had seen people stuck in warehouses on ranks of cots during the drive through Port Hueneme. There were even big tents set up on the golf course north of the base. At least this time she had her own bed instead of a patch of floor and a blanket. Rona searched through the shelters until she found one cot on the top rank done up tight. Military style--a quarter bounced with Jordan-style air when tossed onto it. Only one potential had ever been that neat. Having a retired US Air Force master sergeant as a dad would do that.

Outside, the port buzzed with big guys in camouflage and carrying rifles. All those few good men, playing clean-up for what some young girls had done in secret in a now-dead town. They and the other refugees didn't come near the slayers' shelters. Maybe they sensed Rona and the others were a little bit off. Or else Willow had done a spell to keep outsiders away. Either way, the Sunnydale survivors were left to themselves. The others seemed to like it that way. Rona had gotten a few "attagirls" and hugs from her fellow slayers. Friendly and all, but they were quiet for the most part. Some talked in little groups, others were sleeping away the day. A few stared into blankness. The constant activity and alertness from Sunnydale was gone. Rona would have expected Buffy to go all general on them again. Instead, she and Mr. Giles had taken Xander to a ground-level shelter in the middle. Willow had been waiting by the doors. All four of them disappeared inside. 

Rona heard a clatter of footsteps on the metal grating outside. She stood up, fists on her hips, when Vi poked her head around the open door. When Rona first had met the redheaded Texan, she couldn't believe Violet had actually been chosen by the Council for training. Kennedy had been an obvious choice for a slayer. Confident where Vi was shy, sure of her skills where Vi stumbled through the exercises. If this was what the First Evl had left out of the murdered potentials, Rona had thought, they really were in trouble. Only, through everything, Vi had worked. Every training session, she came back even though she would end up getting thrown around by Buffy or Kennedy or Spike. Bit by bit, the steel had shown through. Rona had seen her friend when the power came. Standing tall. Standing proud. Standing ready. 

These guys are dust. Damn straight they were.

"Now, I have a problem," Rona said with a mock-scowl. "This skinny white chick keeps yelling at me while I'm trying to get some rest. And then she doesn't call, she doesn't write--"

"I didn't want to jinx things." A little of the old Vi nervousness came back as she wrung her hands. "I thought if I went to the hospital, it might be like in the movies. I go up, and see an empty bed, and I ask a nurse if they've moved you to another room, and she sits me down-- Oh, bananas, I was being silly."

"I'm a slayer now, we don't go down easy." Rona punched Vi in the shoulder. "Look at you, Miss Thang. How's it feel?"

"''Believe it or not'," Vi sang in that voice clear as an angel's, "'I'm walking on air, I've never felt so free free free'. Mr. Pynchon never told me it would be like this. Of course, he didn't mention the blood and screaming and sneezing on vampire dust-- Wait, watch!"

"You've been doing that all the time, haven't you?" Rona laughed as Vi grabbed an crowbar from beneath her cot, tying it into a pretzel.

"A couple of times. Maybe, um, ten," Vi admitted. "This is going to be strange, explaining to my dad. I didn't have a chance to tell him much when I called him."

"You get yelled at?" Rona asked.

"For a little, until Mr. Giles took the phone to explain things," Vi said, sitting on her cot opposite Rona's. She absently whittled a stake with a dagger. "He didn't tell Dad all about the slayer stuff, just about Caleb and the cult trying to kill me. I said I was too scared they would go after my family if I went back to them."

"Smart," Rona said. "I hope your dad can get us out of here."

"He's trying." Vi scratched the back of her head. "All the airports are shut down except for military and relief flights. Kennedy tried to buy an airline at the airport here. They've all been drafted by the government."

"You mean, buy a plane," Rona said.

"An entire airline, like a charter service or business jets," Vi said. She scratched the back of her head. "She told me the only time she flies commercial is on the Concorde."

"Nice of her to spend so much time with us po' folk," Rona replied. Airline? Ken's dad must have some mad cash. 

"That's her bed over there," Vi said, pointing out a cot as messy as hers was pristine. 

"Thought she'd be with Willow," Rona said. 

"She's sleeping with Xander." Vi flushed. "I mean, not sleeping sleeping, because of, you know, gay. It's a friends thing, I think. Kennedy moved in here the second night, to give Willow space to work things out."

"Great, we can get some sleep." Rona grimaced. "I don't have anything against what two girls do in bed. Might have back in the day, but at least Kennedy would only want to eat me out instead of eat me. Those two, though, don't know the meaning of turning down the soundtrack."

"'Oh goddess oh goddess oh goddess'," Vi chanted. "We're safe. She's on top, by the pool."

"Pool?" Rona said. "Where's the pool?"

"Oh, you'll see!" Vi said, darting out.

A ladder was propped up against the far end of the scaffold. Rona nearly ignored it to jump up the eight feet until she remembered witnesses aside from the demon kind were bad. So it was a few seconds until she cleared the top lip of the container before she saw it. Kennedy, you magnificent bitch. The third-oldest slayer sprawled out on a white plastic sunlounger by a kiddie wading pool. A tacky inflatable palm tree shaded her from the rays. A cooler full of ice and bottles lay within arm's reach. Nothing cheap about her skimpy bikini or designer sunglasses, though. Rona bet that outfit cost as much as half the wardrobe Mr. Giles had given her. Hell, she even had Andrew standing at attention in waiter's whites with a towel draped over one arm. Kennedy could have been kicking back at a country club in the Hamptons instead of a refugee camp.

"Porthos! Aramis!" Kennedy waved. "Hey, sorry about not seeing you right away. I was meditating."

"This is meditating?" Rona said.

"In the way of my daddy's people," Kennedy said. She saluted them with a martini glass. "I'm contemplating my fuzzy navel."

"How--" Rona began.

"I stopped by a Wal-Mart." Kennedy smirked. "Seriously, those things exist? Thought they were late-show irony. Figured that when Die Obergruppenfuehrer gets back, fun time is over. If she asks, this is the officer's club."

"Buff's not that bad," Rona said, dropping into one of the beach chairs arranged around the pool. "She's mellow now. We talked and stuff."

"Who are you and what have you done with Rona?" Kennedy flipped up her shades, astonished. "Gotta be a shape changing demon sitting there."

"Hey, I even listened to one of her speeches," Rona said, "without having a nigga moment."

"Minion, give my friend here lots of alcohol," Kennedy said to Andrew. "We might be able to save her in time."

"Of course." Andrew bowed. He whipped out a small pad and clicked open a pen. "Would mesdames like a mixed drink? Or I can get a nice refreshing Zima."

"Is that beer?" Vi said, examining the cooler's contents.

"In my world, drinking laws happen to other people." Kennedy tossed Vi a bottle of Corona. "Knock yourself out."

"Yay!" Vi popped the cap with her thumb. She chugged it down...then clutched her stomach. "Are you sure you didn't pick up yak urine instead?"

"I'll stick with Pepsi." Rona cracked open the can Andrew handed her. "I'll be the first to say Buffy got on my tits in Sunnydale. And I still think half the time she couldn't plan her way out of a wet paper bag. Only, I don't think that was her, or all of her. She's been the Slayer--not just a slayer--for a long time. It paid to listen for once."

"Old and crusty," Kennedy said. "We're the new hotness. Besides, I've been training for this since I was eleven. Being the Slayer was my destiny."

"You've got no questions?" Rona sipped her soda. "No worries?"

"Of course not." Kennedy swished her drink about. "I've got this lying through my teeth down pat, haven't I?"

"Couldn't tell a thing," Rona said.

"I-I have a few," Vi said quietly. "I was a Potential and given a Watcher. But...look at me. I know I wasn't supposed to be called as the Slayer. The Council only trained me as 'just in case'. I was ready for the duty. The power? I don't know."

"Buffy told me a few things about destinies," Rona said. "It's never the getting that matters. It's where you stand with them that's important. And, know what? None of us have to carry it alone. Ever."

"A toast." Kennedy passed out three plastic sword drink mixers. "Ready? All for one--"

Three plastic blades clicked against each other.

"One for all!" they chorused.

++++

All that time in Sunnydale, Rona had never visited the beach. Not much chance to do any California dreamin' while dodging Bringers and vamps. The Port Hueneme beach wasn't exactly prize, stuck between the naval base and a power plant. At least it had all the fixings: a mile of sand, the blue Pacific stretching out, the sun getting low in the west. It was like the times her grams had taken her out to the beaches by Lake Michigan instead of splashing around an open fire hydrant in the hood. Xander was by a barbecue pit doing stuff with meat and fire. Someone had given him an apron with "Stake the Cook" written on it in magic marker. Man appeared a little bit better than the morning, at least. Mr. Giles in rolled up pants and sleeves strummed his guitar among a knot of slayers. Rona, Kennedy, and Vi sat together on towels watching a bunch of hardbodied Marines play volleyball. Well, Rona and Vi guy-watched. Kennedy sat Indian-style with Willow's head in her lap, hair like banked fire spilling over Ken's thighs.

"How're you doing, honey?" Kennedy asked.

"Okley." Willow smiled glassily. "Just feeling the magics. Have to balance. Heee. This is like the time Devon came over with the special brownies, and Oz hadn't told me why they were special, and I had some, and it ended up with unicorns and daisies fingerpainted all over Mom's car. Um, and I ate all of the Twinkies Xander hid at my house and I felt oogy later."

"My girl is so cute when she's high." Kennedy patted her cheek. "Go to sleep, and when we get home we can play Rhett and Scarlett."

"Yay! O'gasms." Willow snuggled down, eyes fluttering shut.

"Hey, could you girls--" Kennedy said.

"Oh goddess oh goddess oh goddess!" Rona stage-whispered, with Vi chiming in. "I think Vi and me can take guard duty tonight. Just hang a sock off the door or something whenever Willow wants to feel the magic tongue-stud."

"Awesome." Kennedy cupped Willow's cheek. "It's so amazing. She's my first."

"First?" Rona asked. "Got the impression you've had a lot more action than we did."

"I've seen Holland," Kennedy said. "A lot of conquests. Not a lot of occupation, though. It was always about the hunt--seeing if she was, or I could tease her over the line."

"I could have used more subtle," Rona said. "The most romance I ever got was at the b-ball court when Tater Wilson shoved his hands under my shirt from behind."

"I usually punch boys I like in the arm." Vi peeped out from under the wide brim of a straw hat large enough to pull in alien broadcasts. "That's as far as I've gotten. My dad thinks I'll be ready for dating around thirty-five. He field-strips his AR-15 whenever I bring a date home to meet him."

"My daddy told me the two major rules," Kennedy said, massaging the nape of Willow's neck. "Never slum two social classes lower unless it's for one night, and never have an affair with the help. Not sure if that works for this."

"Maybe you can talk to Buffy," Vi said. "Like Rona told us, she has had a lot of experience."

"Uh, Vi?" Rona grimaced. "Her last boyfriend was a vampire who went crazy, then exploded into a crater three miles across."

"Or not," Vi admitted.

"Face it, I'm solo on this one." Kennedy cradled Willow in her arms. "Wanted to sweep a woman off her feet since I was five. Now I'm the one swept away."

Friends. Who knew that they'd end up being an Upper East Side brat and a shy Texan? World was an amazing place. Glad she had helped keep it spinning. Rona wandered up to the barbecue pit for a hot dog. Man, her appetite was off the chart. She buried the dog under mustard and relish. Too bad she couldn't drag it through the kitchen like a true Chicago hot dog. First thing she was going to do when she hit the 'Go was a trip to Wiener's Circle. Munching her dinner, Rona splashed through the surf along with a few other Slayers. She tossed back a frisbee to Dominique and Cho. This was the life, and you had to grab it while you could. 

There was a huge sculpture up by the wooden fishing wharf. A sundial--Rona recognized it from Flintstones reruns from when she was a kid. Buffy stood there by her lonesome, twirling an umbrella around. No, it was a parasol like in that stupid movie full of happy negroes and Southern smarm Kennedy worshipped. Silvery and sparkly. Rona gave the oldest slayer her space. Curious, she read a plaque on the sculpture. Oh, man. It wasn't modern art. It was a memorial. Almost a hundred people died when a plane crashed off the coast here. Gone, like that. Gone like the potentials Buffy had buried in her backyard, or under the rubble from the bomb, or in the crater. All those girls Buffy hadn't been able to save. When Buffy had dissed Chloe for being stupid and weak, Rona had wanted to smack her hard. Only, could it have been herself Buffy was talking about? Not being able to do anything while the First killed the girls one by one?

"I was in university when this happened," Buffy said, parasol going around and around. "I was distracted that year with first-term things. Jitters, secret military conspiracies, the usual. I patroled the beach more after the accident, in case anyone washed up."

"One of those nothing you do matters deals?" Rona tossed her half-eaten hot dog into a trash can. Not really hungry after all.

"You do what you can." Buffy furled the parasol. "Slayers don't get memorials. A headstone if they're lucky. Most of the time it was one last entry in their Watcher's diary, then shoved into a bookshelf with the rest."

"We should put something up," Rona said. "The world has to know."

"We do. Slayers remember." Buffy traced a bronze heart on the sundial. "There's a chain that binds every one of us. Long after we're gone, as long as slayers exist, there'll be a girl who'll dream of Annabelle and Chloe, my mom and Tara. All the people I've touched in my life. They live in us."

"I've been to the Wall." Vi stood behind them, hat in her hands. "And Arlington. We put flags on my grandfather's grave. He fought in Korea, in the Marines."

"A stone," Buffy said, "somewhere shady and still. Under a willow tree. That's all I needed. That's all we need."

"What will we carve on it?" Rona curled an arm about Vi's shoulders. 

"I think--" Buffy nodded. "Perfect. 'They saved the world a lot'."

"They did." Vi cocked her head. "That's a real pretty umbrella."

"Got it at my prom." Buffy showed them the little card glued to the bottom. "See? 'Class Protector'. The world does notice, sometimes."

The three of them stood for several minutes in respectful silence.

"Hey, Buff," Rona said, "Vi and me volunteered to stand watch tonight, since we can't do a real patrol because of the curfew. You, uh, want to sit with us for a while?"

"It'd be like hikes with the Girl Scouts," Vi said, enthusiastic. "We can sing 'Kumbaya' and make S'mores!"

"Very tempting." Buffy rubbed her hands. "It's been years since I had those. Dawn keeps on experimenting with the recipe, which usually ends in Pepto-Bismol. Or explosions. Pop Rocks and burning marshmallow are non-mixy."

"And you can tell us the truth about some of the wild-ass stuff Andrew told us," Rona said as they walked back onto the base. "There was this crazy story he had about seeing you shoot Satan in the mall with an RPG."

"Funny story, actually..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sundial memorial exists, as a monument to Alaska Flight 261 which crashed near Anacapa Island off the coast of Oxnard. The sundial casts a shadow on the memorial plaque at the date and time of the crash.


	5. Chapter 5

Rona lay on her stomach with a cocked crossbow aimed at the land behind the Slayer Hilton. Caridad, Buffy, and Vi guarded the other three sides. Low voices chattered through an earpiece connected to a walkie-talkie. Xander had set up the night guard shifts and bought the radio equipment the second night. Really military. Rona wondered if he had even been in the army. So far, the only people the slayers had seen wandering around the camp were soldiers on patrol. Nobody without a pulse, nothing with more arms or eyes than usual. You could relax a bit as long as your senses stayed sharp and didn't fall asleep. On the radios, the slayers talked about deep stuff. Important philosophical issues that came up when the darkness bared your soul.

"--and then, as the music ends, the prince takes off his mask," Caridad said, "and it is Antonio Banderas."

"Very nice," Buffy said from her position overlooking the front, twenty feet behind Rona. "Although, take it from me, those ballroom dresses are hard to dance in."

"Been to a lot of them?" Rona asked, using a lighter to melt a marshmallow. She pinched it off between two graham crackers and a square of chocolate. 

"You might say in another life," Buffy said. "The great Halloween where we really got into our costumes. Okay, Rona, your turn. Anywhere but here."

"I'm at a block party in Woodlawn," Rona said, munching her s'more. "It's a huge thing, they've brought in all the biggest names. I'm there, I'm fly, in my best threads. Then I get a tap on my shoulder from this suit who says someone wants to see me. He takes me back to the dressing rooms...and Will Smith is there, and he needs a massage!"

"Woodlawn?" Buffy said. "That's in Chicago, right?"

"South Side, represent!" Rona said. 

"I have an aunt and cousins in Naperville," Buffy said, over the crinkle of a candy wrapper. "My mom and I visited--mmm, love these mini-Snickers bars!--the summer after graduation. Northwestern accepted me, but I decided to go to UC Sunnydale instead. If you need a place to stay for awhile, I can ask Aunt Arlene to--"

"Don't think I'd fit in," Rona said. Buffy wouldn't know. She wouldn't understand. "I have people I can bunk with, no problem. Hey, Vi, your turn. Anywhere but here."

"Promise not to laugh," Vi insisted.

"Part of the rules," Buffy said, "We all took solemn oaths to be non-judgey. The rules say fair game is anyone not a significant other or within three degrees of separation."

"I'm part of a rescue team," Vi said, "on the Civil Air Patrol. A plane has crashed in the mountains during winter. The helicopter can't get in close because of wind, so I volunteer to jump in. I get into the plane to check for survivors. And there is Richard Dean Anderson. I heroically snuggle close to share body warmth."

"Macgyver," Buffy said very slowly. 

"Jack O'Neill," Vi said. Her sigh over the radio spoke of a deep longing. "When I saw him in Air Force dress blues, I lost my heart to him."

"A man in uniform is a wonderful thing," Buffy agreed. 

"Buffy, you're up," Rona called out. "Anywhere but here."

"My usual involves a beach towel and a hunk," Buffy said. "This time-- My mom told me years ago about her honeymoon in Europe. Major into art, so she'd spend days sketching in the Louvre or the Uffizi. Other times, she would sit at a cafe. That's my anywhere. Sitting in a cafe in Roma--naturally, in the best fashion from Milan--sipping an espresso, a little nibble on the biscotti, watching the street."

"No guy?" Rona said, making another s'more. "I thought that was the point of the game."

"One will probably come along. It'd just be nice to sit and be." Buffy went quiet for a few minutes. "Rona, why did you invite me to stand guard?"

"From the time in the hospital," Rona said, chewing. "All that time in Sunnydale, you never were a part of us. I get it now, being commander and all. Only I saw you go away even from your friends, and I know you were tight with them. Seen you always on the edges today, never getting close to us."

"After some of the things I said and did," Buffy said, almost low enough that her words disappeared into the background static, "figured it might be a good idea to pull a Marcie for a while. Less generallissimo, more wallflower."

"That's the thing," Rona said. "Time we talked, I found out Xander's talk about you wasn't all hype. You're pretty fun to be around. Nice to see that."

"Rona, I take it back," Buffy said.

"What?"

"What I said about Rome and the cafe," Buffy said. "Right now, there's nowhere else I'd rather be than here."

++++

"You have a what?" Rona said, tongs frozen above what was called "scrambled eggs". People in line behind her in the commissary muttered at her to move on.

"It's no big." Kennedy's tray was heavy with the bacon and sausages. "Rich people back in the Gilded Age were always bringing back souvenirs from Europe. Old Masters, marbles, that kind of thing."

"When my family visited Branson," Vi said, pouring milk over her cornflakes, "we bought snowglobes and T-shirts. And fudge."

"But a castle!" Rona said, eyes wide.

"My great-great-grandfather wanted a cottage in the Berkshires." Kennedy wrinkled her nose at the eggs. "Yeah, these aren't happening for me. This coffee? Swill. First thing I do when I get back to New York is order a decent cappuccino."

"Cottages don't come with battlements," Rona said. 

"It's more of a manor house," Kennedy said, carrying her plate to an empty table in the camp commissary. "A castle-ette. We're not talking Camelot here."

"I meant to ask before--" Vi said.

"Not related to them. I was named after one." Kennedy snorted. "He was a frat drinking buddy. You can tell daddy was being sentimental."

"So what's your first name?" Rona asked, buttering her toast.

"Uh. This is not for broadcast. Only Willow knows." Kennedy gritted her teeth. "Ofelia. Yeah, I know. My mom's a flake. A fun flake, though. She gave me my first glass of champagne at nine."

"I think it's a romantic name," Vi assured her.

"Read the play sometime. I don't do victim." Kennedy dug into her protein-heavy breakfast with a will. "Our family stopped using the Berkshire estate when the Hamptons became the fashion. Still, it's in the family. I used it some summers to train with my Watcher. We have stables, archery range, the works. Heck, I figure we can fit everyone into the servant's quarters no problem."

"Aw, you mean it, missy Ken?" Clasping her hands, Rona fluttered her eyes. "I's going to be in the big house? Rona no want to work in th' fields no' mo'."

"Holy crap!" Kennedy swallowed heavily. "I actually felt white-liberal guilt there for a second. Nobody in the family's ever had that, except one time my Uncle Egbert swallowed a tab of acid in the early seventies and spent Easter thinking he was a tree."

"Score!" Rona cackled. She actually got--

Wrong.

It was like ten thousand beetles were crawling under her skin. Rona had felt that only once before: under the Hellmouth when the power came. Most of the reason she had fought that hard was the screaming willies the Turok-Han had given her new slayer senses. Her lips twisted as her mouth tasted the ugly prickle of biting down on aluminum foil. Vi and Kennedy had noticed something too, knuckles white above bunched fists. Where? Where was it? She searched wildly around the warehouse that housed the commissary. Over a hundred refugees were eating at the tables. Stake, stake, dammit. No stake. It was morning, why would she need one? It must be in a dark corner somewhere, outside of the sunlight streaming through the half-open warehouse doors. Vamps could be tricky like that. 

Rona locked on the two strangers walking one aisle away. In full sunlight, so not vampires. Demons. Had to be. One was a tall, dark-haired man with a bad-ass scar right across his throat. Rona didn't know men's suits from anything, but his was definitely on the high end. The woman right behind him-- The nastiness rolled right off her. That bitch looked uptown. Expensive skirtsuit, matching scarf around her neck, a black briefcase sleek enough to rip past the speed limit with a silver logo in the leather. Only, Rona had seen her dead eyes and deader smile on a pimp who used to come by the schoolyard every so often. He'd promise the girls they could make a lot of money and have a whole lot of fun. Rona hadn't fallen for it. Some of the stupider girls had. Kennedy hissed, staring at the briefcase. Not good. As one, the three slayers walked with surprising speed at the two. They were heading for the Scoobies. Oh no--

"Wes?" Buffy said just as Rona grabbed the woman's upper arm near hard enough to shatter bone.

"You know someone from Wolfram and Hart?" Kennedy slapped a hand against the man's chest. 

"I see you recognize our firm's emblem." The woman's voice was friendly--all honey to hide the venom. "I wasn't aware your family used our services, Miss Drake."

"We've heard enough to keep away from you." Kennedy shook in rage...and fear. "We like our lawyers to be attack dogs, not Cujo. My W--my tutor also told me a few things."

"Could someone let me in on--" Buffy bent down to hear Mr. Giles' whisper. "Right. You're the evil lawyers--the evil evil ones, if that's possible--Angel's been fighting. Sorry, if you're out to sue me for post-apocalypse damages, all my stuff is under a crater."

"What's going on, Wes?" Xander rose, face white. "Why haven't you guys called back? And, when did you get a level in Marlboro Man?"

"Lilah," the man they called "Wes" snapped. "Leave us."

"Of course, Mr. Pryce." Lilah's smile had vipers in it. "I'm sure you'll want to catch up everyone on the new order."

"Wesley," Mr. Giles said, standing behind Buffy. "Would you mind explaining what the bloody hell is going on here?"

"It is a rather long story," Wesley said, sadness and grief colouring his words. "You may wish to sit down. I am afraid to say..."


	6. Chapter 6

It was like Sunnydale all over again. A bunch of wired teenage girls clutching blades and stakes against the boogieman. Rona hated it. For a few days, they had been safe. Able to think--nah, let's be real, pretend--they had a while to breathe. Now it's the same old same old. The slayers not standing guard were packing up all their stuff and cramming it into their rucksacks. Mr. Giles had driven the school bus over to the hospital with Caridad and Gretta to get Principal Wood. Swearing into her cellphone, Kennedy was promising a charter company in Arizona everything up to making out in front of the pilots with Willow if they would just get a goddamn plane to goddamn Oxnard. Buffy and Xander--

Rona had watched them when Mr. Pryce gave them the news. She didn't understand much. Too many players whose names she had only heard a few times, craziness like some kind of goddess coming to earth to eat people. There was only the effect of his words to understand how bad things had become. When he told them this "Angel" had made a deal for the amulet, Buffy had crumpled exactly like when Dawn had asked her to leave that last horrible night. Rona hadn't thought about it much. As far as she had been concerned, ding ding the witch was death, all hail Faith as the new queen. Only now did Rona think about how lost Buffy had seemed. Even her own blood turning on her. Betrayal. Xander had been worse hearing about his friend Cordelia and the coma. At first he hadn't reacted much. Really quiet. Then he had punched right through the table. He sat next to Buffy by their shelter, wrist taped up, without any expression at all.

"Ma'am!" Vi ran up to Buffy. "I talked with my dad. He's found us a flight home on an Air Force plane heading back to Pope. It'll be landing at Camarillo in three hours."

"We're meeting the Pope?" Buffy said. "I-I need a new outfit. And maybe a wimple."

"It's a base next to Fort Bragg, ma'am," Vi said, non-plussed. "My dad served there with the 43rd Airlift for a while."

"Bring on the dueling banjos," Kennedy said, snapping shut her cell. "Being anywhere near Wolfram and Hart is nowhere I want to be."

"These lawyers scare you that much?" Rona said.

"I spent almost a year in a 'straight re-education' camp when I was thirteen," Kennedy snarled, "because my--thankfully late--grand-daddy decided that he didn't want a dyke for an heiress. Wolfram and Hart broke my daddy's custody and had me declared cuckoo for cocoa puffs. Only got out when the asshole died. I'm up for the Two Minute Hate when they're around."

"How'd he find out you were gay?" Rona asked.

"Caught under the stairs at Sterling Academy with the daughter of the Swiss Consul." Kennedy waggled her eyebrows. "Heidi. Blond pigtails, and could she yodel."

"You should swap stories with Faith." Buffy sagged. "An entire week without angst. That's a record for me. Nice while it lasted. So, New York, New York, what a wonderful town?"

"Saks, Neiman-Marcus," Kennedy said, waving around her credit card, "and I'll treat."

"And I am suddenly depression free." Buffy closed her eyes. "Not. Ken, get us transport out of...wherever we're going."

"Already got a bus coach lined up in Fayetteville," Kennedy replied.

"Vi, Rona, round up Caridad and Dominique," Buffy ordered, the cold mask of the general coming over her face. "Make sure everyone's packed and ready."

"Yes, ma'am," Vi said.

"And--" Confused, Buffy swiveled around. "Xander? Where are you going?"

"With Wes," Xander said, packing a duffel. "I'll catch up."

"Are you insane?" Buffy tore the bag away. "There's a big neon sign with flashing arrows saying 'Obvious Trap' over those two. The only things missing are a hick preacher and wine barrels."

"Cordy was one of us," Xander said. He tried to dodge out of Buffy's way. "We owe it to her. Can't just leave her behind, not like Ahn, what if she was still--"

"No! I am not losing anyone else." Buffy cocked back her arm. "Hold still. Choose which side, left or right. I'll make sure the chains are comfy."

"That would have been the high point of my life, once upon a time," Xander said. "I have to do this. Have to be sure."

"Always throwing yourself at your girls." Buffy handed back the duffel. "Tell Giles I'm going with. We'll--"

"I'll go," Rona blurted out.

"You can't," Kennedy said, "you have no idea how nasty these guys are."

"It's the smart play." Rona struggled to keep her voice steady. "We can't lose Buffy. We need you to get everyone safe. Vi has her mom and dad waiting. So, I'll go."

"You're sure?" Buffy demanded.

"Probably not in five seconds," Rona admitted, "but now, yeah, I'm ready."

A sharp nod. The only agreement Rona needed to send her scrambling for weapons. She grabbed a stake and the kukri Mr. Giles had slipped her in the hospital. Kennedy tossed her a bag with a sword and battle axe. Vi put together a field-stripped crossbow. They hugged. One for all and all for one, even when it all came down to one slayer again. Vi whispered the first rule: don't die. Didn't intend to. Although if--when--they got out, Xander's ass was going to get kicked around the block for pulling her into this. She caught up to Xander marching out the Port Huemene gate. A limo waited on the street outside. The beetles-and-tinfoil shivers came over her as the door opened. Lilah held open the door with all the sweetness of a fairytale witch asking a couple of kids to clean out her oven.

At least the ride into Hell was plush. Black girl was definitely front of the bus now. Wolfram and Hart's limousine was all expensive wood paneling and rich leather. Then Rona thought about what some of the bindings of Mr. Giles' books had said to have been made of, and wanted to levitate her ass off the seats. The mini-bar looked good right about now. Of course, considering this was a law firm that was supposed to do the First Evil's taxes, Rona would rather take her chances smacking her head with a war hammer. Mr. Pryce sat across from them, back stiff. He became even stiffer when Lilah's hand caressed his knee. He angrily slapped it away. Oh yeah, definitely a Spike and Buffy vibe going on there. Xander didn't notice. He was quiet while they drove to Oxnard Airport. A helicopter with the W&H logo whirled up when the limo nosed through the gate.

Definitely the stupid thing.

+++++  
Rona had never seen anyone in a coma. Creepy as hell--like seeing her grams laid out in her coffin before the service, only alive. If you could call that alive. Although with this woman, it was beauty sleep. The dark-haired woman in the hospital room--and what kind of law firm had its own medical wing?--could have been resting up for a high-end model shoot. No wonder Xander had risked this much to see her. Maybe an old girlfriend, the way he held her hand while sitting next to her. Had a tiny, bitter grin. The others in the room kept their space as if afraid to get too close. Mr. Pryce and a hunk of a brother whose suit said uptown and body said Compton chatted quietly about living wills and custody. A green demon with actual horns sipped from a fancy martini glass. At least he didn't set off her alarms like that scary lawyer bitch of Mr. Pryce's. What did set her on edge with the big, brooding vampire in the corner. Staying close to Xander, Rona's hand never left the stake hidden in the small of her back beneath her shirt.

"That's my Queen C," Xander said, kissing her forehead. "Gave birth to a goddess, and a bet there isn't a stretch mark on her."

"Harris," the vamp said, shifting uncomfortably, "the firm will do everything it can. If Willow can see her--"

"Hold that thought." Xander nodded, once. "Okay, fuck you in the heart sideways with a telephone pole if you think Wills is coming a hundred miles of this place."

"That is hardly fair," Mr. Pryce said. "Angel accepted the position as head of this branch of Wolfram and Hart for your sakes. It was a significant sacrifice."

"He did it for Buff." Xander shrugged. "We're a lot alike, aren't we, Angel? These women we love. They come into our lives, they get us to love 'em. Then they die. Hell of a way to bond."

"There's hope." This Angel said it as if he wanted--needed--to believe it. "There's always hope."

"She's gone." Xander kissed Cordelia's forehead. "Cordelia lying dressed like this, in this room? She'd be screaming her head off. Give them hell in the next life, Cordy. You'll never be a name tag person to me."

"If Buffy needs help," Angel said, intercepting Xander before he could reach the door. Rona nearly dusted him right there. "You don't trust us. You probably shouldn't. I'll do what I can."

"Stay away from us, or I'll kill you." Xander's grin twisted from wistful to murderous. "You've dragged down too many already. It's all going to end in fire and tears, you know that?"

"Yeah." Angel nodded. "Tell her I love her."

"I will." Xander glanced around the room. "Here I am, no eye, no wife, no home. You've got a fancy new office and minions. And, boy, never thought I would say this, but I pity you, you poor bastard."

Xander maintained until he was right at the elevator before his knees gave out. Rona held him up so the Wolfram and Hart scum wouldn't see him collapse. Bastards. We're leaving here with our heads high. Her stake whipped out to press against Mr. Pryce's throat when he rushed up to help. Close, too close... Rona froze when he tucked a small card into her pocket, out of sight of the others. He mouthed a single word. "Watcher". Rona backed away with Xander into the elevator. The shaven-headed black lawyer escorted them up top to the helipad on the roof of the Wolfram and Hart tower. Couldn't stop staring at her. Waiting for them was a chopper--not one of W&H's--with the rotor spinning. Kennedy crouched in one door, a crossbow at the ready. Alright, my sister! Smart not to trust these people to get them back without trying something. Entire place was wrong. Rona rushed them into the chopper's cabin a second before it lifted off.

She glanced at the business card in her pocket. Written in pen on the back was a name and phone number.

Huh.

Who was David Nabbit?

The helicopter landed at Camarillo Airport. Nothing much: some buildings and a runway outside of the city. Squatting at one end was a huge four-engined cargo place with the propellers already starting to turn. The Sunnydale Survivors were getting in through a ramp at the back of the plane. Buffy paced from side to side until Rona and Xander stepped off. Rushing up, she took Xander's weight off of Rona. Good thing too. So heavy to carry. Rona met Vi and Kennedy by the ramp, sharing one last hug. Inside the plane, it was bare bones. Only seats made out of webbing along the sides of the cargo hold. She strapped in as best she could. Just before the ramp closed, Rona took in one last glimpse of California blue sky.

She spat out the crack right before the ramp shut.

Screw this state.

Exhausted, Rona fell asleep as the plane flew east.


End file.
